


maybe just hello is enough (a hello is not enough)

by aetherae



Series: a little bit of momentum [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, dw it's not that serious tho, i'd tag this as hurt/comfort but there's really not much comfort lol, it just turns out nearly dying really makes you miss your boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherae/pseuds/aetherae
Summary: Dimitri needs to write a letter to Claude. It proves a bit difficult, given that he was nearly assassinated.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: a little bit of momentum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885954
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	maybe just hello is enough (a hello is not enough)

**Author's Note:**

> once again i bring you: dimiclaude without much actual dimiclaude. sorry.... but look on the bright side feh has been a BLESSING to us all, dmcl stays WINNING. the two of them might barely feature in this fic together, but at least they're enjoying their honeymoon in askr!!
> 
> there's like even less context to this than the last dmcl fic i posted but i will try:  
> \- set in the same verse as that  
> \- byleth's back and archbishop now, life's great  
> \- claude went home to almyra to get ready to take the throne
> 
> THAT SAID WELL.... IF YOU'RE STILL HERE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

When Dimitri wakes up—he wishes he hadn’t, in all honesty. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious for, but in that time, a deep-seated weariness and pain settled into his bones. His entire body aches with whatever wounds he has, his skin clammy and cold as if he sweat through the entire night. These kinds of pains and discomforts are ones he’s intimately familiar with, although it’s been ages since he last felt them. Not even the most exhausting battles of the war left him like this. It’s the kind of lingering fatigue that plagued him when he lived in exile, when so many battles ended with him only just scraping by with his life.

His eyes snap open.

The assassin. How he barely managed to fight them off with Claude’s curved dagger, the weight of it unfamiliar in his hand as a weapon rather than a memento but nothing else available to him in Fhirdiad’s slums. Their narrow escape after Dedue and Ingrid came rushing in, but not before leaving him with several nasty injuries, all from their poisoned blade.

His voice comes out rough in disuse when he croaks, “What—”

“Your Majesty!” Still blinking the bleariness out of his vision, Dimitri doesn’t see where in the room Dedue is, but he feels his friend gently pushing his shoulders back as he tries to sit up. “Please, do not strain yourself. Your wounds may reopen if you do.”

He lies back down in his bed with a frown, too weak to protest otherwise. Dedue remains standing vigil to his right, brow furrowed and with a matching frown of his own. “How are you feeling? Mercedes left not too long ago, but I can send for her again if need be.”

“I’ll live.” Which doesn’t exactly say much to how he’s feeling, but Dedue accepts it with a reluctant nod. Honestly, he feels absolutely wretched, but he knows his words to be true. He’s survived wounds just as bad as this, if not worse, several times before already. It certainly doesn’t do the poor condition of his body any favors, but he’ll recover well enough in due time, he’s sure of it. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

He swears softly under his breath, struggling to sit up again. “I must write to Claude.”

In an official capacity, relations between Fódlan and Almyra have improved vastly, what with the two countries opening their borders to one another and the official announcement of his own engagement to Almyra’s crown prince. Still, the King of Fódlan nearly being assassinated is news that would be kept strictly confidential. Word travels fast though, especially with open trade flowing freely between their countries now. If it’s inevitable that Claude will hear of this, then he’d much rather it be from himself instead of some alarming, word-of-mouth report with barely any information on his actual condition.

He sighs, frustrated. After promising Claude he could take care of himself when they were apart, he failed spectacularly at that.

Dedue shakes his head though, once again preventing Dimitri from sitting up. “I insist that you rest, Your Majesty. Dictate the letter to me, and I shall write it for you.”

“... He’ll know something’s wrong immediately though,” he says, brow furrowed. Claude already worries so much for him, and when Dimitri knows he’ll recover just fine—he doesn’t want to give him yet another reason to worry. There’s more than enough on Claude’s plate simply preparing for his ascension to Almyra’s throne. This will be a distraction to that.

“With all due respect, he will know something is wrong right away regardless. You are in no condition to write at this moment.” At Dimitri’s indignant expression, Dedue simply shakes his head. His mouth remains a flat line, but Dimitri would swear there’s a hint of humor to his tone. “Should you try, your penmanship will be illegible.”

He could almost laugh for how truthfully Dedue speaks. It’s an argument he can’t win against though, not without making a fool of himself by wasting several sheets of paper. Reluctantly, he concedes. “Very well.”

His friend nods, wasting no time in taking a seat at Dimitri’s desk and finding some blank parchment. The desk sits close to his bed—a rearrangement he made after so many late nights of paperwork saw him asleep at his desk unintentionally—for which he’s silently grateful for right now. As he is, he doesn’t think he even has the strength to raise his voice. With a quill in hand, Dedue looks back to him with a nod.

“Dear Claude,” he begins slowly. “This letter may come as a... surprise to you, in its timing, but I wished to be the first to tell you before any misunderstandings could form. There was an... incident, the other day,” he says, ignoring the way Dedue raises his eyebrow in his direction. It’s dismissive of what happened at best and an actual lie at worst, but this letter will be worrying enough as is. He intends to avoid any dire language. “That unfortunately became dangerous. Rest assured though that I am fine and well. Please do not worry about me...” 

Dimitri trails off, winded from speaking a few meager sentences. Recovering from this will be absolutely grueling. He swallows though, catching his breath and adding on, “And continue on with your duties in Almyra as per usual. All my love... Dimitri.”

Dedue finishes the letter up quickly, handing it off to Dimitri for approval which he gives with a nod. After tying the letter off and sealing it shut with Dimitri’s wax seal, Dedue sends for a servant, leaving the letter to them with the instructions to use their fastest carrier bird for the task. When the door shuts, Dimitri sinks back into his pillows, eyes closed and exhausted. He knows he should try to eat before resting again, but his aches and pains leave him far too tired for it. It feels as if someone scraped out everything inside of him to dump it out on the wayside, leaving him equal parts nauseous and weightless. 

Which is familiar in its own way, he supposes. This isn’t the first time he needed more than an antitoxin to be rid of poison, where he needed to be hollowed out via magic. It’s the second, and both times by assassins. It would almost be funny if he wasn’t stuck bedridden.

“... Do you really think that will keep Claude from coming?” Dedue asks, taking vigil by his blindside once more.

Dimitri sighs, long and heavy. As much as he wishes he could believe that... “No, most likely not. But... I believe he would worry more if he heard of this from someone else without a word from me.”

Dedue nods, but when he turns to Dimitri, he bears a deep frown, the furrow in his brow having only worsened. “I must apologize, Your Majesty. It is my sworn duty to protect you, and I failed you.”

He’ll have absolutely none of that though, and he waves his hand weakly. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Dedue. I live yet, and it was my own fault for letting my guard down. Besides...” he trails off, grimacing. As reluctant as he is to admit this, it’s the truth. “It was a well-coordinated attack.”

A newly restored orphanage in the slums would have been the last place he expected such a finely planned assault, but there it was. Peacetime meant no longer wearing armor for public appearances, bringing as small a retinue as possible if it was within the city. It was less intimidating that way, the people could see their king as more approachable. They’d been at the commemoration for the orphanage when Ingrid unsurprisingly became waylaid by the many young girls there, all of them so fascinated and excited to see a lady knight. He’d laughed at all their cheer, letting her know she was free to spend some time talking to them. Not too long after though—and now, he can’t help but wonder if this was somehow a calculated move, part of the assassin’s machinations—a soldier arrived, needing Dedue’s attention for some specific matters. Left alone with no one but a few other children in the area, Dimitri felt the attack before he saw it: a sword from above cutting his right arm nearly open as he barely avoided having it slice open his neck instead. The assailant leapt from the rooftop to his blindside, and he nearly died because of it.

He allowed himself to grow soft during peace. He was a fool to not carry a weapon he was more familiar with on his person, to not have trained with Claude’s heirloom dagger. He should have known better than to leave his blindside so exposed. He was naive to think an attack like this wouldn’t happen in a place with children nearby. There are dozens of reasons he can think of for how and why this happened, and they all find fault in him.

“Have we apprehended the assassin?”

His friend shakes his head. “Not yet. Sylvain and Felix are currently investigating it. We do not believe they have been able to leave the city.”

Dimitri figured as much. He wouldn’t count himself as familiar in dealing with assassins, not like Claude, but he can only assume they’re dealing with someone—if it’s even just one person acting alone, it’s hard to say—incredibly skilled. His own lapse in remaining on guard aside, slipping past both Dedue and Ingrid is no small feat. As unfortunate as it is, he can’t say he’s surprised that they’ve yet to catch them.

He sighs again, eyes closed as he tries to stave off the ache in his heart. Truly, he doesn’t want Claude to waste his time here when it could be better spent preparing for the throne in Almyra, so he can succeed as king even a day sooner and they might finally think of a way to rule their respective countries yet not spend such long lengths of time apart—but even so, he wishes dearly he could see him. Dimitri is no stranger to his life being in danger, not after so many years of battle and war. Still, he can admit to himself that after all their battles together, after coming to expect Claude to watch his blindside as he said he always would, he’s no longer used to making it through such danger without seeing Claude right beside him.

“I apologize for bothering you any further,” Dimitri says, turning his head towards Dedue, “but would you be able to get my dagger?”

“It is no bother, Your Majesty. I had a feeling you would be looking for it,” Dedue replies softly. Barely able to sit up as he is, Dimitri can’t tell where in the room Dedue gets it from, but he comes back quickly, carefully passing the sheathed blade into Dimitri’s hand.

He turns it over in his hand, tracing over every ornate line and detailing the way he has countless times before. It’s decorated and beautiful in a way most blades in Faerghus are distinctly not, but an heirloom weapon of the Almyran royal family would have no reason to be. The balance of it feels off in his hand compared to the sort of dagger he’s familiar with, and he knows a good deal of his injuries could have been prevented if he simply knew how to wield it better. Still, no matter how poorly he used it, he knows this much for sure: without this dagger to defend himself with, that assassin would have taken his life.

Even if he wishes he could see Claude for himself rather than simply hang onto a memento, he takes comfort in the fact that despite the miles upon miles between them, despite being in entirely different countries, his beloved still manages to find a way to protect him.

“Thank you, Dedue.”

His friend nods, stalwart as ever but with the barest hint of a smile on his face. “You are welcome, Dimitri. Now, please get some rest. I will stand watch for you.”

“Very well, but do not push yourself too much. I’m sure Ingrid and Ashe both are already waiting to take over for you so that you may get your own rest.”

Dedue says nothing, his tiny smile slipping away, but he closes his eyes and nods before turning, and Dimitri takes that as a sign that he’s correct in his guess. It would make him laugh if he had the strength for it, but instead, he clutches Claude’s dagger close to his heart, his lingering exhaustion finally overtaking him.

He closes his eyes, knowing from experience that this type of weariness tends to leave him in long, deep, dreamless slumbers. Still, he’s woken despite such deep fatigue before, from the dead plaguing his nightmares, their cries rousing him to wake in a fit.

With the familiar weight of Claude’s love in his hand though, he falls asleep with the reluctant hope that if anything does wake him, it’ll be Claude.

**Author's Note:**

> ihni if this assassination attempt even makes any sense BUT LOOK LET'S FACE IT HERE: DIMITRI IS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO KILL. THE DUDE JUST REFUSED TO DIE ON MY AM RUN, I HAD TO BS SOMETHING THAT COULD GET HIM A BIT BANGED UP AT LEAST!! but also dimitri not being able to taste shit means he would be so susceptible to being killed via poisoned food wouldn't it....... maybe in another life of this fic that's how he nearly died LMFAO FROM BAD FOOD.
> 
> **edit 12/25:** now featuring the LOVELIEST follow-up fic from my partner in crime when it comes to this au [straylize](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize), like honestly if you actually read this fic do yourself a favor and go read [(Paralogue) Assassins From Abroad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320294)!


End file.
